seeing other folks’ art
is always so cool
and makes me want to write too
but i feel like i either
have nothing specific to write about
or too much in my brain
ready to all come out in some sort of
cacophonous stew
[but the brilliance of this metaphor
is that stew still has discernible parts
that can be picked away from the whole,
so maybe i should just try
and maybe one vegetable
will grow
a garden of a play
someday]
have you ever seen art
that makes you want to
be
a better artist?
that makes you want to
pry yourself open
and create the most honest art you can?
that makes you want to
be vulnerable
be truthful
be fully yourself
through your own art?
and
even though you don’t know necessarily how
you do know
it’s possible
because of someone else’s
great, honest, vulnerable, truthful
art
?
i feel my ability
to create
has been sucked dry
by a cabinet that has yet
to even take power
and i don’t want to let it
the universe deserves art
art is what makes life worth living
it doesn’t even have to be spectacular, world-paradigm-shifting/
perspective-altering/makes-you-see-new-colors-on-earth
great
art
it just needs to be art
because every human is creative
and every human deserves to look at something
and feel —
even if that feeling is
‘i want to do that’
for inspiration
or for competition
or for proving something —
art takes humanity,
splits it into a thousand pieces,
and connects every piece of us
back with each other
and even if we only ever see two or three pieces
of ourselves
connect with others in our lifetime,
those pieces continue on:
in your stories to the friends you make later,
in one audience member’s recollection,
in your peers’ inspiration
and on to making their own creations
we all continue to live through our art
because humanity
is connection
and connection
is art
and art
is humanity
and all reversed and back again
and we cannot survive
as a species
without our art, our connection, and our humanity
so please, as defeated as you feel, artists, keep art-ing
i will
i just need to stream these feels into my art
first
and then maybe this poem will reside in the heart of someone else
who will help someone else
continue on
and
on
and
on
it
goes
if only i knew what i wanted to write about/
if only i didn’t start hundreds of poems
immediately after closing up the morning poetry page/
if only i could access all the unfinished lines in my mind
from last night and prior nights
going back years and decades
and mine them for inspiration for today
now
this morning//
but instead i find myself sitting and staring/
and hoping and despairing/
and writing about writing
and random morning things
[maybe, every few weeks, i should actively make morning poetry
into nighttime poetry
and see what happens
then]
in the mornings
i am coming into my own
and i write
and i write
and i say
very little
during the day
i am observing all my own
and i think
and i think
and i write
very little
at night, before sleep
my mind analyzes
everything on its own
and i ponder
and i prepare
and i write masterpieces
in my mind
but i really write
not at all
and in the morning
it’s gone.
my bursts of energy
of passion
come when i least expect them
after a particularly successful acting class?
nah
after weeks and weeks and weeks of depression
almost as a way to bring myself out of the slump?
nah
after a few days of getting really into embroidery
and getting inspired by clothing design
and finishing my current re-watch of one tv show
(but still in the middle of another)
and finishing one project
and feeling like celebration is fine
but rest is not
and getting particularly bored
yes
that is exactly when i’ll want to record
and submit for gigs
and audition
and maybe apply for representation
i just wish there were a way to access this
when the depression sets in
and everything else is exactly the same
but the boredom goes into self-sabotage
instead of inspiration
(and i wish i knew how long this inspiration would last;
last time it stayed for barely a day,
hardly any time to get a gig,
much less apply to multiple)
but voiceover feels a little less enigmatic,
more accessible,
voiceover feels like me,
a me that doesn’t have to be ‘on’ every day
or at least can be comfortably adjusted
on a non-on day
i don’t know where i’m going with this poem
if i’m actually going anywhere
but i feel inspired
i feel invigorated
and i hope to keep this feeling
(i feel like i just might)
once again
my frantic creativity
is failing me
this morning page time
and i know i have things i wanted to write about
and i know i have things i needed to write about
and i know i have things i could be writing about
but the sky feels grey, not blue
and the world seems tipped slightly askew
and i can’t conceive of how long this off-ness will last
(nor if it’s truly a case of of perception,
or if it could simply be a time of transition
asleep to awake
un-caffeinated to caffeinated
cat-lap-less to cat-lap-full
[and let me tell you, those claws in my legs sure helped me wake a little more])
so i suppose i’ll keep writing.
hoping things start making more sense,
hoping the coffee soaks its way to my veins,
pet this cat until my fingers find more words to write
(and forgive her when her affectionate head bumps a few letters out of place)
because this is my life;
i made it.
mine.
i have been filled
recently
with inspiration
true inspiration
flowing inspiration
from all over
and this morning
i had
*something*
i wanted to write about
to explore in words
to contemplate out loud
[on doc]
but it’s left me
dry
and i’ve hated everything i’ve started so far
so maybe a prompt is the way to go???
~~~
are poems of dreams
really more interesting
than a telling of that same
dream?
a prompt told me to write
out
a dream i remember
in as much detail
as i can remember
but here’s the catch:
my dreams
(like my thoughts)
are conceptual,
abstract
(at least in what i remember,
retain;
the dreams themselves are pretty mundane)
i remember
[maybe]
[possibly]
dreaming of the pants
i decided to wear today
deep pockets
large legs
flowing around
but still split
my nicknamed ‘gender euphoria pants’
because they are technically genderless
and anyone can wear them
it’s just a lot of people don’t
and i think my gender is not aligned
with the male or the female
the man or the woman
but instead
i’d call my gender
Cryptid.
(so anything that sets me
ever so slightly apart,
that makes you go “i think that was a human,
but i’m not entirely sure”
that’s me
that’s my gender
that’s my euphoria)
but i think i dreamed of these pants
reaching into the pocket
not finding the bottom exactly where i expected
and maybe there was something important there
and maybe i did eventually find it
and maybe there were other people/places/things inside this dream
but what i remember
are the pants
and the reach
and that’s it.
was that actually interesting content???
~~~
(i wonder if there are any of our animals
who are trans
and would rather be
“misgendered” by strangers
than have us
continually
“correct” them.
i think this might be why
i so rarely actually correct the stranger.
i’ll use the pronoun i know them as,
but not make a big deal out of it
(unless we’re at the vet
and it might affect the type of care)
but just in case
the animal gets some gender euphoria
every time a stranger
refers to them
by the “opposite gender”
than i know them as
i don’t want to come barreling in
with a correction
that is not
actually
correct.)
connect
with
your words
yourself
your past
your present
(maybe even your future)
all you have to do is
connect
with
your words.
~~~
every evening i go to bed
expecting to wake up
and be hit
struck
stampeded
by inspiration,
and every morning i wake up
and i’m still
simply
tired.
~~~
(is it time yet?
time to contemplate what makes folks ‘like’ the poetry i post?
is it time to admit that, maybe i’m not writing for an audience,
but i’ve probably started posting for one.)
change
is a-comin’
and it’s ok to be scared
and it’s ok if it’s not right away
and it’s ok if it’s not exactly what/how we think
but change is coming
and coming
and coming
and maybe
i’ll change
too.
~~~
writing poetry
quick lines,
every now and then
an almost rhyme,
and i wonder if the greats
ever wrate
[wrote]
this way;
half asleep
as a way to wake-up
coffee in hand
cat in lap
pondering the possibilities
of whole pieces
(but only thinking
one or two words
at a time)
~~~
quick!
major inspiration
flow through me now!
poetry
prose
fiction
creative-non
monologues
whole scripts
anything
something
please, universe, please?
kipventures 